


this love asylum, like an island (just me and you)

by lacecat



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Bisexual Alien Blast, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Feelings Realization, Future Fic, Gen, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Bisexual.She’s never said the word out loud to describe herself. When Michael had said it to her, in his Airstream, she had realized that, and thought, maybe there are some things worth bringing out, that don’t deserve to be hidden.She just wishes that her wedding-rebound-fling hadn’t been with DeLuca, out of all people. Goddamn it.





	this love asylum, like an island (just me and you)

**Author's Note:**

> ok, i am entirely pro-noah redemption arc, but i'm also a thirsty bi who would die for any of the potential wlw relationships on this show, SO
> 
> catch me @ villanellve on tumblr, talk to me about these cw aliens 
> 
> (title from feelings by hayley kiyoko, which i have used BEFORE for a fic, I KNOW)

\---

  
The wedding has been a joyous occasion - a nearly flawless execution of an event if she could say so herself. Liz had refused to let Isobel be the day-of coordinator, insisting that Max needed his best woman, as well as to make sure that the best man (Michael, who hadn’t worn a tuxedo since prom night, and had been pouring both him and the groom shots since five) didn’t cause too much trouble. Isobel eyes her replacement - Linda from the town board, who has yet to mess up even when the canapés were delivered late, but she has her eye on her.

 

Both Liz and Max cry during their vows - Max when Liz ended hers with a beautiful analogy using science and art and their history, and Liz, when Max started to read some of his own poetry to her. From behind the bride, Isobel can see Alex Manes subtly wipe his eyes, too, along with half of the wedding guests in the chairs around the wedding party.

 

She glances to her side, where Michael is watching Alex with that look in his eyes - part of her is deeply, truly happy for him, and the other is a little fondly disgusted, because she’s about ninety percent sure that the night is going to end up with her walking in on her brother and Manes getting it on in the coatroom, or worse, just staring soulfully into each other’s eyes like they forget that the rest of them exist and have to witness that.

 

But Isobel resists the urge to bump Michael with her elbow, and so she finds herself looking at the last member of the wedding party, over on the bride’s side. The maid of honor isn’t crying either, but like she knows exactly when Isobel’s eyes are on her, Maria DeLuca meets her gaze, lifts her eyebrow ever so slightly.

 

Isobel tears her eyes away. She’s not about to start anything with Maria DeLuca in the middle of her brother’s wedding. Ever since everything that had happened, and Maria had been one of the people allowed in on their secret, there’s been some begrudging truce between them, unspoken of course, the outright hostility fading into something much more like a distant dislike - they can be in the same room, but they don’t have to pretend to be friends. It’s almost refreshing.

 

Isobel can still feel Maria’s eyes on her, and she’s preparing to glare right back, but then the justice of the peace is telling the bride and groom that they can kiss. Then she’s cheering and clapping along with the rest of them.

 

 

\---

 

 

  
She really did outdo herself, Isobel thinks to herself, as she turns to the open bar. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she informs him, before turning back to the dance floor.

 

She can see Max and Liz swaying together, Liz’s father watching them proudly from where he was standing with her mother and father. A few feet away, Michael and Alex are clutching onto each other like they’re the ones who just got married, both looking incredibly awkward and also entirely lost in each other. Kyle Valenti’s even there, spinning around Jenna Cameron with far less effort than the others there.

 

Everyone looks happy, and yet, Isobel feels like she’s witnessing it from the outside.

 

“Not too bad of a setup,” Isobel hears from her side. She turns her head to meet Maria DeLuca’s cool gaze. “I guess this means you aren’t worried about your guests getting themselves into trouble?”

 

Isobel scoffs. “I wouldn’t forgo a bar at a wedding,” she says, accepting her drink from the bartender. “This is a step up from your dive bar, I mean. People like to have fun at weddings.”

 

Maria tilts her head in that same infuriating way that she’s done since high school. “You’re not a wedding person, are you?”

 

“I don’t know what that means,” Isobel says, and she takes a long drink. “If you’ll excuse me - “

 

“You don’t have to confirm it, I just know these kinds of things,” Maria says, tapping her temple with a glossy nail before leaning against the bar. “Even though it goes against the Stepford wife thing you’ve got going on - though I suppose that’s not really accurate anymore.”

 

That stings. Everything with Noah is still fresh and painful, and the more she thinks about it, the more she kind of wants to dive into the bottle of whiskey that she knows Michael stashed in the second flowerpot outside of the venue.

 

Isobel resists the urge to touch her bare finger where she used to wear her wedding ring. “It never was,” she says curtly, turning to go - but she freezes when she feels a hand on her elbow.

 

“Hey,” Maria says, sounding surprisingly genuine, “Wait. Liz told me I had to be nice to you today, and not only because she thinks you’ll melt my brain if I’m not.”

 

Something indignant rises in her then. Isobel pulls her arm away. “I don’t need your pity, DeLuca, nor Liz’s, thank you very much - “

 

“And you’ll never have it,” Maria says, and she nods to the bartender, raising two fingers. “Come on. If I have to stare at Guerin and Alex for this long, I need to be drinking too.”

 

The song switches and Isobel can feel the joy swelling from her brother as he spins around the dance floor with his new wife - though she knows Liz is leading them because there haven’t been any collisions yet with the sweetheart table.

 

She raises her eyebrows, but she stays put. “Are there some hurt feelings there?” she says, unable to resist the jab.

 

“More like what could never be,” Maria says evenly, and she accepts one of the glasses. After a moment, Isobel drains her first drink before accepting the second glass, ignoring Maria’s amused expression.

 

“To what never could be,” Isobel finds herself saying, and their glasses clink together. She can feel Maria’s dark eyes on her like before, and something underneath her skin prickles unexpectedly.

 

“Two more,” she says to the bartender, “We still have the speeches to get through.”

 

 

\---

 

 

  
She registers the headache, then the taste of stale gin in her mouth. Isobel turns her head, wrinkling her nose at both of those facts - and then she registers the movement of sheets beside her, and her eyes fly open.

 

“Well,” Maria DeLuca says from where she’s sitting at the foot of the bed, as diplomatic as Isobel has ever heard her, “I was trying to sneak out so we didn’t have to acknowledge this, maybe ever.”

 

Unlike Isobel, Maria has her dress back on. Only the back remains unzipped, showing a long line of skin - and a smear of lipstick just to the left of her spine, the same color that Isobel had applied yesterday -

 

The night comes back in pieces and pieces, as Isobel stares at the mark, soon hidden as Maria twists and closes the zipper herself as if in a hurry.

 

She remembers tugging that very dress up high enough to mouth at soft skin in front of the ugly dresser just across the room, the burn of the cheap carpet on her knees, the sound of Maria laughing as they eventually fell onto the bed -

 

Isobel Evans does not do drunken hook-ups in disgusting motels after her brother’s wedding. She could not have done any of that - and yet -

 

“Oh my god,” Isobel says. She starts tugging at the sheet in a vain effort to cover herself, and doesn’t miss Maria’s eye roll at the gesture. “We - “

 

“I don’t do morning-after talks,” Maria tells her with the tiniest bit of a curl to her lip that makes Isobel’s hackles raise, “Or is it the sexuality panic right about now?”

 

“No,” Isobel retorts, though sounding unconvincing to her own ears, “But we - I can’t believe I would - “

 

“Well, that’s my cue,” Maria says coolly, “I have no clue where the motel key is, so don’t lock yourself out.”

 

In an absolutely infuriating gesture, she reaches to pat Isobel’s shin from over the sheet before getting up. Isobel’s jaw works silently, still a little in shock, as she watches Maria pick up her heels from where they had been discarded on the ground on the way out, slipping out of the door without another glance.

 

The door closes with a resounding thud behind her, and Isobel eventually flops back onto the bed. The silence that greets her does absolutely nothing to buffer this apparent turn of events in her mind, the realization bouncing around her skull.

 

“I slept with DeLuca,” she says out loud, incredulous, and then she groans, repeats, “I slept with DeLuca.”

 

 

  
\---

 

 

  
Isobel finds her very expensive suit crumpled at the foot of the bed. She puts on the blouse and the slacks, and after a moment, forces her heels on as well.

 

In the bathroom, she dares to study herself in the mirror. There’s a hickey low on her neck, her hair is in a tangled mess around her head, her mascara smeared under her eyes - and yet, she finds her mouth twitching a little like she’s about to smile. For a night she can’t quite fully remember, it must have been a good one.

 

She manages to get her hair a little less wild, scrubs off her makeup, and finds her cell phone still in her jacket pocket. The battery is low, but luckily not dead, and she calls herself a cab to take her back home.

 

Isobel stops on her way out of the motel, looking back at the tangled sheets, the empty glasses on the side table. She distantly remembers Maria tugging at her hair, her thighs clenched around her head, grabbing onto the headboard, then -

 

Isobel makes herself move rather than take this trip down memory road, and she waits outside in the blinding sunlight, wishing for her sunglasses and maybe amnesia the entire time until the cab pulls up to take her away.

 

 

  
\---

 

 

  
It’s not even a sexuality panic, not really, despite whatever Maria DeLuca might think.

 

A part of her knew that there had always been feelings with women - well, that maybe, in another time, another place, she might’ve ended up with one. There had been a girl in college she had hooked up with a few times when they were both bored, but she had made it clear that it wasn’t going to turn into anything serious, and Isobel then had been fine with that.

 

Then she had married Noah, when she was still so young, and with all the pleasure they had found in each other, they had never tried to bring anyone else into their bedroom. Isobel always thought she had too much of a jealous streak for that, anyways, or maybe she had been too convinced that she could fold away that part of herself, let herself think that it wasn’t anything, not really.

 

When her memories of that awful night had started to come back, she had rationed that she truly had been in love with Rosa Ortecho. That that was the easiest explanation, that she had brought to the light that part of her. Maybe if Noah hadn’t been who he was, she would’ve told him one day.

 

Bisexual. She’s never said the word out loud to describe herself. When Michael had said it to her, in his Airstream, she had realized that, and thought, maybe there are some things worth bringing out, that don’t deserve to be hidden.

 

She just wishes that her wedding-rebound-fling hadn’t been with DeLuca, out of all people. Goddamn it.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

With Max and Liz off on their honeymoon, Isobel finds herself short of people to talk to. She knows better to disturb Michael before noon on a weekend, and with the wedding having taken most of her time these past few months, she’s found herself with a startling lack of anything to do.

 

By the time Isobel showers and sleeps off the rest of her hangover, it’s only the early afternoon. The house is too big and quiet around her, and not for the first time, she wonders if she should sell the place.

 

The first few months after they had found out that Noah was the fourth alien, she hadn’t been able to sleep in their bed. Finding out that your husband killed a bunch of people and has been lying to you about who he is for your entire marriage? Not exactly something that she could take to her therapist, either.

 

Isobel still sleeps on the couch in her own house, sometimes, because she’s not sure she’ll ever walk around the corner and not think about him there. It had been her first home, filled with all these memories, because it had been good, with him, right up until the terrible end.

 

So she coped in her own way - buying a new bed, redoing the kitchen appliances. Throwing out all the jewelry he ever bought her, and then climbing into a dumpster to retrieve it all, to put it in a box in the top of her closet. Taking out the garden he had put in for their third anniversary, and putting in a new patio. She knows Max and Michael are concerned about her, given how they’re both utterly unsubtle when they whisper to each other just out of her earshot, but she knows she’s fine. She’s dealing with it, after all.

 

Now, sitting with her hair in a towel in the living room, she ponders the bay windows in the front room. They could use with a fresh coat of paint, Isobel decides, and so she gets up to finish getting dressed and heads into town.

 

 

\---

 

  
Isobel rounds the corner in the hardware store, paint gallon in hand. Because the universe is cold, uncaring place, she nearly crashes into exactly the last person she wants to see in that moment.

 

“Whoa,” Maria says, swerving just in time, “Busy day?”

 

She’s in jean cut-offs and dusty boots that makes Isobel think of every sexy cowboy co-ed costume only somehow looks real and comfortable on her. But this is Maria DeLuca she’s staring at, her brain reminds her, and so Isobel drags her eyes away from the fraying line of denim against her thighs, lest she actually catch her looking.

 

“You could say so,” Isobel forces out, and starts to pass her in the narrow aisle, holding onto the paint cans even tighter.

 

Maria scoffs, saying something under her breath, and Isobel whirls around. “If you have something to say,” she says heatedly to Maria’s raised eyebrows like a challenge, “You should say it to my face.”

 

“I’m not the one who has a problem being honest,” Maria throws right back. “It’s not like I’m so thrilled about last night, either. I do have a reputation to uphold.”

 

“What happened,” Isobel says, “Was a drunken, one-time, mistake that I still can’t believe I resorted to - “

 

“We’re both grown women,” Maria says with a slight smirk, “No need to hate yourself the next morning.”

 

“I’m not blaming myself,” Isobel throws back before she can think better of it, then in a lower voice, “Do you have some weird alien kink, is that it? Or was it some kind of sick joke?”

 

Maria’s eyes go wide for a second, before narrowing. “If you’re talking about me and Michael - “

 

“If you slept with me,” Isobel hisses, “Because I’m like some kind of replacement for him - “

 

“See, I’m actually friends with Michael now,” Maria snaps, “You, on the other hand, I kind of hate. So if anything, I’d like to forget that the entire thing happened!”

 

“Good,” Isobel says with a sneer, “So we do agree on something,” and she turns around and walks away.

 

At the checkout, she’s too terse with the cashier, and he hands her change back with a pale expression. Isobel snatches the cans of paint back, putting them both under her arms, and exits the store cursing Maria DeLuca’s name in her head.

 

 

  
\---

 

  
  
When she gets to her car and turns the keys, the engine stutters. Isobel frowns, tries again, and the car lights flash on and off - but nothing.

 

“Typical,” Isobel mutters darkly under her breath, “I know I should’ve just used that old paint,“ and she gets out of the car, grabbing her purse on her way.

 

It’s a long walk back home, but she’s really not in the mood to wait around for a tow truck, or worse, risk seeing DeLuca again. Besides, the walk will do her good, clear her head and hopefully lighten her sour mood. She has the fixings for margaritas and a good horror movie waiting at home, and if nothing else, that will help.

 

Only she gets about five minutes in her walk down the road, and a car slows down behind her, before stopping and honking once.

 

Isobel adjusts her grip on the paint cans, wincing as the metal digs into her fingers, and levels a glare at the windshield. She’s really not in the mood to deal with some dumb hick catcalling her, and might just have to melt someone’s brain if that’s what it takes.

 

Only she recognizes the car. “Get in,” Maria says clearly from the rolled down driver window, as Isobel tries to glower her away. “Liz will give me shit if I let her new sister in law die in the desert.”

 

“I’m not going to get in your car - “

 

“Just get in the damn car,” Maria says curtly.

 

It is hot. And her hands are really starting to hurt. So Isobel swallows her pride, and she gets into the passenger seat.

 

She thinks that even if she were to go inside Maria’s head again, poke around to see exactly what makes her tick, it still wouldn’t answer some of the absolutely perplexing reactions she has. Maria starts to drive again without another glance at her, even as she noisily shifts in the seat.

 

Isobel waits until they’re a little more down the road, and because her mother had taught her to be the bigger woman, she eventually grits out, “Thank you.”

 

“Just don’t get paint on the leather,” Maria warns, glancing over. “You getting ready for your next garden party or something?”

 

“Painting the windows,” Isobel says flatly, keeping a firm grip on the cans. “I keep busy.”

 

“I could tell.” They drive a little longer, Maria fiddling with the radio. Some familiar-sounding song has her tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, her turquoise earrings bouncing as she sings quietly under her breath.

 

Isobel exhales. She can be civil. “I didn’t mean what I said,” she says at last. “You’re really going to have to narrow that down.”

 

“About you and Michael,” Isobel continues, and she can tell when Maria goes tense. “It’s none of my business about what happened between you two. But it was… unkind of me to throw it in your face like that.”

 

“There wasn’t anything between us, not really,” Maria says, though the twitch of her fingers says otherwise. Then nearly to herself, she adds, “But I guess there doesn’t have to be for it to be a problem, right?”

 

She, like everyone else it seems like in the alien and human-adjacent group, has been a witness to Michael and Alex finally admitting their history together, the feelings there. Isobel knows that there had been something between Michael and Maria, and that Alex and Maria had been friends since high school - without knowing the specifics, she can figure that there would be some awkwardness.

 

“My husband turned out to be a serial murderer in love with a dead girl,” Isobel says with the kind of harsh tone that she relies on so that she can even stand to say things like that out loud, “So I’m well acquainted with problems, just so you know.”

 

Maria laughs out loud, sharp and loud, and then looks as surprised as Isobel feels that she did so. “You know what,” she says, with a sideways look at Isobel, “Hate’s a strong word. I can just distrust you, right?”

 

Now it’s Isobel’s time to snort. “I can live with that.” They pull up to the front of Isobel’s house. Maybe it’s the sun in her eyes, or the paint can that’s digging into her lap, but Isobel finds herself saying, “I also didn’t mean - it wasn’t a mistake.”

 

“Come again, Evans?”

 

“We’re two grown women, like you said,” Isobel adds, staring out the front. “I don’t hate you either. We also don’t have to pretend to like each other, and so you know I don’t have any reason to lie to you when I say that it wasn’t a mistake.”

 

“Psychic,” Maria reminds her. “I’d know if you lied to me anyway.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

 

She doesn’t know what she thinks she’s doing, as she unbuckles her seatbelt but stays put in her seat. There’s something charged in the air, growing the more the can feel Maria looking at her, the more Isobel thinks about the bruise on her neck, feels it grow hot under the memory of how it got there, as she meets her eyes at last.

 

Maria just continues to look at her, her gaze inscrutable. She can see when Maria’s eyes go a little wide, just as Isobel leans across the console, stops, and then closing the final distance as she kisses her.

 

Maria is still, too still, enough so that Isobel begins to draw back after a moment. Maybe she didn’t read this right, or -

 

Only then Maria is huffing something out under her breath again, and she’s yanking Isobel right back, kissing her hard, her teeth then tugging at Isobel’s lip while her hands greedily tangle in her hair. Isobel hears herself moan, her other hand flying up to balance herself on the dashboard, tilting her head as they kiss again, and again -

 

The weight from the paint can in her lap shifts, and Isobel breaks free to catch it before it can fall on her feet. She exhales in surprise, as she takes stock in whatever that was that just happened, her lips stinging.

 

“What,” Maria says, sounding similarly stunned, “Was that?”

 

She might not have the answer to that, but it doesn’t mean she needs to, either. “I could stand a repeat,” Isobel says, injecting the kind of cocky confidence that she doesn’t feel into her voice, because she’s tired of being alone in that house, and just wants to feel something, even if it’s the ridge of denim on the inseam of Maria’s cut-offs right about now. “We weren’t so drunk that it wasn’t good.”

 

Maria looks like she’s taking this in. Her eyes narrow. “This isn’t anything special. You and I, this doesn’t change anything.“

 

“Okay,” Isobel says, and her eyes drop to Maria’s mouth, before she says, “Are you coming inside or not?” Firmly resolved to not wait for her answer, Isobel turns to the door, opening it. She picks up the paint can and her purse on the way out, closing it behind her.

 

She gets all the way to the house door, sets down the paint can near the door when she hears the car door open.

 

  
\---

 

  
It’s been a long time since she’s done this - barring last night, she hasn’t slept with anyone other than Noah for years.

 

For a long minute, Isobel wonders if she should just bring her to the bed, or if she should make some excuse. But then Maria’s already leading her to the couch in the living room, pushing her down onto the deep cushions and straddling her hips before she can voice any of that out loud.

 

Isobel works at unbuttoning her shirt while Maria tugs off her jacket, her shirt, then unclasping her bra and discarding it behind the couch in a fluid movement. Isobel surges up to mouth at the skin just below her breasts, feeling Maria’s hips rock above hers in response, both of them quickly divesting each other of any other clothing that’s in the way.

 

Maria is vocal about what she likes, guiding Isobel’s head with practiced ease, breath catching in her lungs when Isobel presses against her with her fingers just right, her hips stuttering when she finally gets the right rhythm, however clumsily, especially when she gets close.

 

When Maria pushes her thighs open, settles between her legs and dips her head down to lick at her, Isobel gasps, back arching and clutching at the leather, feeling like her chest is about to burst, her vision going blurry when she comes.

 

Afterward, Isobel just lays back as Maria untangles their limbs and sits on the other end of the couch, her feet just against Maria’s thigh. She’d been in a dry spell recently, sure, but even that doesn’t entirely explain just how deep the satisfaction has hit now, curling deep inside her stomach.

 

The sun has settled in the sky since they had first stumbled in. In the dimmer light, Isobel studies the bay windows and finds that she doesn’t mind the color, after all, the itch under her skin having seriously subsided since this morning.

 

“I gotta say,” Maria rasps eventually, “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

 

Isobel stretches, feeling languid and not as awkward as she had expected in the afterglow. Considering Maria's the second woman she's slept with, she thinks she has the right to feel so smug - only sex is sex, isn't it? “Does that surprise you?”

 

Maria rolls her eyes, but the gesture looks much less irritated when her face is that relaxed. “Good to know you stay humble.”

 

As she picks up her shirt once again, Isobel asks, “You’re leaving?”

 

“Relax,” Maria says with that infuriating smirk, “I’m not about to move in. I know the drill.”

 

Isobel watches as she gets dressed - slower this time, unlike this morning in the motel. When she’s decent, Maria rises and gives her a once-over from where she hasn’t bothered covering up at all on the couch. “You know what,” she says, “Kind of feels like we’ve settled something.”

 

“A new source of conflict resolution?” Isobel asks airily.

 

“More like a kind of truce,” Maria says, picking up her jacket. “It’s been a weird day.”

 

She lets herself out after using the bathroom, without any other attempt at conversation. Maria DeLuca might be many things, Isobel thinks, but at the very least, she’s a considerate two-night stand - or twice in one day, stand, technically.

 

 _Very_ considerate. Her body’s still humming from that last orgasm, after all.

 

She’ll get to the windows another day.

 

 

  
\---

 

 

 

Only, it turns out not to just be a two-night stand.

 

She had met Michael at the Wild Pony, because despite her distaste for dive bars, she’s trying to build an actual relationship with her brother, beyond government conspiracies and one or more of them being close to death. If sticky tabletops and jukebox music makes her brother comfortable, then she’ll learn to deal with it.

 

Michael heads to the bar to get them drinks while Isobel waits at an aforementioned table. Maria is working that night, it turns out, and Isobel can see her head turn to glance over at her when Michael talks to her.

 

Isobel waits for Michael to return with their drinks. When he sits down in the booth across from her, she asks, “How’s Alex?”

 

Michael’s head jerks a little like he’s still unused to being asked that kind of question. “He’s good,” he says, then with a crooked smile, “Thinking about adopting a dog. We’re gonna head to the shelter tomorrow.”

 

Isobel reaches out and squeezes his hand. “I’m happy for you, you know?” She tells him, even as Michael starts to make some kind of protesting noise, “I’m glad you were able to work it out.”

 

Michael clears his throat, looking both pleased and embarrassed as he squeezes her hand back. “Yeah, me too.”

 

 

\---

  
They share a couple of drinks and talk for most of the night, catching up and just being as close to normal as they can. She’s missed this, this kind of easy nights. If there has been one good thing about the events of the last few months, it’s that her priorities have sharpened - and being around her family, enjoying that time, is on the top of that list.

 

Michael bows out before closing time, in a surprising twist. “Alex’s waiting for me back at the cabin,” he says, a little sheepish. “Want me to drive you back?”

 

“That’s okay, I’ll call a cab,” Isobel says, and then smirks up at her brother just because, “I just can’t believe Michael Guerin’s a kept man, heading back to his nice domestic life - “

 

“Shut up,” Michael says with a laugh, leaning down to hug her, but noticeably doesn’t deny it, not with that kind of soft happiness in his eyes that he would deny. “Text me when you get back, all right? Don’t go dancing on tables or something, at least not without video proof."

 

Isobel smiles and watches him go. She decides that since there’s no one waiting for her, she’ll have another drink. God, she can’t remember the last time she was at a bar by herself - or single, for that matter.

 

The Wild Pony isn’t too busy, so as soon as the bar is free from other customers, Isobel sidles up, sits on one of the bar stools. Maria has a smile automatically plastered on when she turns around at the bar, and it quickly fades away into a frown when she sees who it is. “What are you doing?”

 

“Now, that’s no way to greet a customer,” Isobel snarks, holding up her glass. “Can I get another drink?”

 

Maria rolls her eyes. “Another cocktail special?”

 

“Actually, I’ll have whatever you’ll have,” Isobel says. “Don’t bartenders have their favorites?”

 

Her frown deepens at that. “You don’t need to do that.”

 

“What? Be a generous patron of - “ and Isobel casts a look around the bar, searching for the word, “ - long-standing Roswell institutions?

 

“Cute,” Maria says like she knows the word that Isobel had thought of first, “You’re lucky I’m in the mood to drink.”

 

“All right,” Isobel says, watching as Maria pours them both two fingers from an already open bottle of whiskey. “So am I.”

 

“I would’ve thought that once Michael left, you’d get out before your carriage turned into a pumpkin,” Maria says, sliding a glass over to her. “Or do you like to hang out on the wrong side of the tracks, feel a little dangerous for a night?”

 

“Well, it’s not for the customer service,” Isobel says tartly. She takes a sip of the whiskey, grimaces. “Nor the drinks.”

 

Maria gives her a searching look. “You don’t have to play nice,” she says, and Isobel can’t help but to glance around, make sure no one’s in ear-shot. “So if this is some kind of way to make sure I’m not gossiping over what your underwear drawer looks like - “

 

“Maybe I’m here for a repeat,” Isobel says suddenly, and nearly drops her own glass in surprise at herself. But she doesn’t take it back, not since she’s seen how the tight shirt that Maria’s wearing presses up against the top of her breasts, her skin gleam under the neon lights in the bar. “You interested?”

 

“Evans,” Maria drawls, “Are you here for a booty call?”

 

In response, Isobel downs the rest of her glass, and she slides off the stool. She casts another speculative look, feeling nearly like a challenge, and she goes to the bar’s bathroom.

 

It’s as disgusting as she expected in there, and she’s both feeling not at all like herself, doing something this reckless and out of character, and also kind of like she’s letting herself do what she wants.

 

Three minutes go by, and Isobel fixes her makeup in the cracked mirror on instinct, a part of her wondering if she’ll have to slink out the back door, if she made a mistake in offering.

 

Then the door opens.

 

Maria closes the door behind her, flips the lock. She meets Isobel’s eyes in the mirror. “I can’t believe you,” she says in the silence. Here, they can barely hear the music from the bar, all the sounds muffled except for the sound of their breathing. “What exactly are you doing?”

 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Isobel tosses back, turning around. “And I think you already know - “

 

Maria’s crossing the room as soon as she had opened her mouth, and then she’s on top of her, pressing her against the sink with a thud, interrupting that thought. Isobel gasps into the open-mouthed kiss, feeling Maria surge up against her, hands going to the underside of her thighs so that she parts her legs, letting her come in between them.

 

Maria tastes like the terrible whiskey, her tongue running over the seam of her mouth, curling against hers and dragging along the roof of her mouth. Her hands are already sliding up underneath Isobel’s skirt, the heel of her hand pushed up against her, as Isobel digs her nails into the back of her neck, making Maria pull back with a gasp.

 

“Oh God,” Isobel says, nearly embarrassed at how ragged her breathing is, as she lets her legs fall more open, lets Maria push her onto the edge of the sink, utterly not caring of how it’s going to ruin her clothes - “There - just - yes - “

 

Maria’s wearing tight jeans with buttons in lines on either side of her hip bones that dig into her the more she presses in, closer to her. Isobel scrabbles at the waistband, trying to find a zipper, as Maria’s fingers finally curl inside her. Her head flies back involuntarily, hitting the mirror and making her moan, “Fuck - “

 

Maria’s hips grind against her thigh through her clothing, her mouth biting against Isobel’s collarbone, muffling a moan as Isobel uses her other leg to pull her in, encourage the movement. The sink groans dangerously underneath her weight, and a small, hysterical part of her brain thinks that even if it were to break, she might not be able to stop, not when Maria’s rubbing against her just right, already too good at knowing just how fast to go.

 

“If you break anything in my bathroom,” Maria says clearly into her ear, “You will be paying for an upgrade,” and Isobel rolls her eyes, urging her instead by sliding her hands down the back of Maria’s jeans, grabbing her ass and pulling her even closer and relishing in the stuttered moan she hears in response.

 

\---

 

  
The sink survives, though Isobel’s skirt - less so. Maria’s makeup is smeared all over by the time she draws back enough for both of them to half-dazedly blink at each other and separate.

 

Isobel pulls her underwear and fixes her blouse as best as she can, Maria doing the same next to her. She feels like she’s tottering on her heels, legs a little shaky, as Maria turns to her and says, “What is this?”

 

“What’s that saying about three times a charm?” Isobel replies, smoothing out her skirt to little avail since she’s not sure what to do with her hands right about then. Her head’s a little clearer, but absolutely not any more lucid, apparently, given she’s half a mind to cockily suggest a round two.

 

“This isn’t going to be a thing,” Maria warns, glancing between her and the mirror, combing her fingers through her hair. “I still - I don’t - Jesus.”

 

Isobel smirks. “I’ll take your lack of coherence as a compliment,” she says, turning to head out the door.“You can’t go out there looking like that,” Maria calls after her. “You look - “

 

“Oh, I know,” Isobel calls over her shoulder, smugly closing the door on her way out.

 

 

\---

 

 

  
In hindsight, she should’ve known something was up the fourth time, when Isobel comes back to the Wild Pony the next week during the day, and she ends up going down on Maria in the stockroom.

 

Or the fifth time, both of them crushed together in the backseat of Isobel’s car, or the sixth, the seventh -

 

They both don’t bring it up, because she thinks that at the very least, they both know that pulling any sort of thread out of this unspoken - agreement, arrangement, whatever it is, won’t do either of them any favors. It’s something to be kept between them, and if the sex is really good, really, what’s the problem with that?

 

It helps that Isobel finds it much more difficult to distrust Maria DeLuca, let alone hate, when she finds out they have a similar fondness for 90s girl bands. The time she finds out that Maria  _really_ like it when she sits on her face, she later finds out that she matches up semi-precious stones to her mood, builds her wardrobe off those colors, when Isobel hands her back the cats eye jade earring that had somehow ended up in her own hair. Maria might be a psychic, but she also  _really_ likes surprises, such as when Isobel finds out that her left ear lobe is infinitely times more sensitive to a gentle bite than her right lobe. 

 

“You’ve been different,” Max observes over dinner at his house, once he and Liz are back from the honeymoon, because he's able to feel her emotions on some level, and he knows her too well. “You look different, too.”

 

Liz squints. “Yeah, have you been seeing someone?”

 

“No,” Isobel says, and it’s true - sort of. They're not dating, or anything. “I’ve just been doing me. Living my best life. I'm thinking about dying my hair.”

 

“I support that,” Liz says, clinking her glass against hers. “But I mean, did you buy a really good vibrator? You do have this glow.”

 

Max makes a horrified sound, and Isobel laughs.

 

 

  
\---

 

 

The seventh time turns into the eighth time, and then somehow turns into countless.

 

  
“Yeah,” Maria gasps above her, “Come on, there, come on, Evans - “

 

Isobel pushes her hips up, the straps digging into her hips and making her feel ten different shades of smug as Maria lets out a long moan, hand working at herself from on top of her. She looks gorgeous like this, her hair loose around her shoulders, the way she works her lower lip between her teeth as she grinds up and down above Isobel, something straight out of a fantasy.

 

Isobel puts her hands on her waist, using the additional leverage of her feet against the mattress to thrust up even more, and Maria’s head falls back. “Yeah,” she gasps out, “There - fuck, perfect, don’t stop, want to come like this, come on, move - “

 

“You are exceptionally bossy,” Isobel says in between breaths, “In bed, you know that?”

 

Her eyes still closed, Maria grits out, “Takes one - to know one,“ and Isobel laughs, feeling something fond clench at her heart, especially when an answering smile starts to creep on Maria’s face mid-moan.

 

And just like that, the thought that she could feel like that, something so eerily reminiscent of what she had felt like with Noah when they had first met, startles her. Isobel nearly stops, but turns the motion into something more slow and heady, Maria apparently not minding the change of pace as much as she sounded like, gripping onto Isobel’s shoulders for balance.

 

Though it’s not as surprising as much as the sound of the car pulling up in her driveway, thanks to the open bedroom window.

 

“Shit,” Isobel says, looking over at the clock, “What time is it?“

 

There’s a knock at her front door, and they freeze. “Isobel?” Michael’s voice filters through, “You home?”

 

Maria’s eyes flash open, and she’s getting up and off Isobel, lightning fast. “What’s he doing here?“ she hisses, grabbing for her dress and sweater.

 

“I don’t know,” Isobel says right back, “He's probably just dropping by - “

 

“Isobel? You in there?”

 

“Give me a minute!” Isobel shouts back, then looks at Maria, resisting the urge to let out a giggle. “I can distract him - “

 

“I’m headed out the window,” Maria says, barefoot and looking indignant. “You owe me an orgasm, Evans.”

 

She can’t help the smirk that comes across her face, watching Maria climb out the first-floor window. Luckily, she had parked around the back, so if she can just distract Michael for the next five minutes or so, he’ll be none the wiser.

 

Isobel takes off the strap and quickly finds a robe, striding out to the living room. She winces at her reflection in the mirror in the hallway, and quickly splashes her face with water from the kitchen, before opening the door.

 

Michael looks at her, then stares at the robe she’s wearing. “Uh - sorry. You have - company?”

 

“No,” Isobel says briskly, subtly scanning the room just in case there’s anything that indicates the opposite having been true not two minutes ago. “Sorry, I was in the shower. Why do you ask?”

 

“No reason.” His voice sounds odd, though. “I can come back - “

 

“No need. Do you want something to eat?” Isobel asks him, as his eyes snap back.

 

“Sure,” Michael says, putting his hands in his jeans awkwardly. “I mean - if you want. You sure you’re not busy?”

 

“I have some leftovers,” Isobel offers instead, padding into the kitchen. She hears Michael follow her, his footsteps stopping somewhere in her living room. “So what brings you here?”

 

Michael doesn’t answer, and Isobel frowns, craning her head around the open fridge door. She looks at him in time to witness what looks like the end of a rapid progression of emotions across his face. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

“Nothing,” Michael says quickly, then clears his throat. “If you do have someone over, I could, uh, just wait here until they get out - “

 

  
“Michael, I’m alone,” Isobel assures him. “What do you need?”

 

“Alex,” Michael starts, then stops. “He asked me to move in with him.”

 

“Michael,” Isobel says, something in her chest warming, closing the fridge door, “I’m so happy for you - you said yes, right?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Michael says, and he looks relieved to be able to speak out loud about it, given the rush of air that comes from him, “It’s just - I didn’t think I’d get that with him, you know? After everything we’ve been through.”

 

  
“Michael,” Isobel says carefully, stepping back over to him, seeing how his eyes aren’t quite meeting hers. “This is a good thing. He makes you happy, right?”

 

  
“Of course,” Michael says, “It’s just - when do you stop thinking that it’s about to get torn away?”

 

She wishes she had a better answer for him. Isobel says, “You don’t,” because she needs to be honest with him. “You just hold onto whatever you have, for as long as you can.”

 

She wonders if it’s the wrong thing to say, but Michael just closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he looks much less like he’s about to jump out of his skin.

 

“Thanks,” he says, shifting his weight. “You know, I wanted to tell you first because you get it. Max thinks that the whole world’s a romantic novel sometimes, you know? That everything will always be rosy in the end.”

 

“Yeah,” Isobel says quietly, because their brother’s too-big heart is the best and worst part of him. “But for what it’s worth? Sometimes it is rosy in the end. And I hope you get that.”

 

Michael catches her eye, and gives her a genuine smile. “You too,” he says, then there’s a flicker of that same expression from earlier, but Isobel still can’t place her finger on it. “You deserve that too, Iz.”

 

It’s only when she’s closing the door, much later, that Isobel sees the pair of distinctive purple boots in the living room.

 

The ones that Maria kicked off when Isobel had pulled her in by her belt, the ones that Michael definitely saw - and given his face, she realizes, definitely recognized.

 

 

  
\---

 

 

  
She goes to the Wild Pony that night, again. Maria’s not working the bar, but she sees Isobel enter from across the room and raises her eyebrow - an invitation as good as any, she thinks, as she makes a beeline over without being too inconspicuous.

 

“So, Michael probably knows,” Isobel says as soon as she’s reached the table, “About us.”

 

Maria crosses her fingers in front of her. Isobel adds, feeling rather on the spot, “He didn’t say anything, but he saw your boots. That I have, by the way, if you want them back. They’re in the car - ”

 

“I know,” Maria says inexplicably, still staring right at her. “He came by earlier. I think he tried to give me a shovel talk, but Guerin’s basically a teddy bear by now. I think he ended up apologizing to me in the end."

 

“I don’t know what he said,” Isobel says then, feeling a little desperate, “But - “

 

“Relax, I told him like it was,” Maria says, uncrossing her fingers and looking back down at the ledger in front of her. There’s something decidedly set about her expression. “No need to do any damage control, Evans. A fling’s a fling, and Guerin knows better than to run his mouth.”

 

 _Run his mouth?_ “Hold on, do you think I care that he knows?”

 

“You tell me,” Maria says steadily. “I’m the one who climbed out a window today. No hurt feelings, but I will need those boots back, thanks.”

 

“DeLuca,” Isobel tries, “I thought it’d be weird between you and him. That’s why I can’t - “

 

“You know what,” Maria announces abruptly, “I’ve got to relieve my bartender over there. He looks like he’s about to pass out from that bug that’s been going around, and I hate cleaning up broken glass.”

 

She gets up just as quickly, collecting her papers. “I think,” Maria says then, “We should cool it for a bit. Okay?”

 

Isobel, feeling distinctly off-kilter, can only nod. Maria doesn’t give Isobel another glance as she collects her papers and heads over to the bar, and Isobel is left reeling for reasons she can’t quite pin down.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

  
She considers texting Liz. Only Liz is Maria’s best friend, and despite the bounds of progress they’ve made in the past few months between the two of them, Liz is still not an unbiased ear for which Isobel can try to explain the issue - but is it an issue, if she can’t put into words what exactly rubs her the wrong way about this latest interaction with Maria?

 

Isobel’s finger hovers over Max’s contact info, only she can’t tell Max and expect him not to talk to Liz about it. Or she could, but it would probably eat him alive - they’ve sworn not to keep secrets from each other, and Max would do it, but she doesn’t want to burden him with that, either.

 

It almost makes her laugh, thinking about this as a sort of secret to be careful with. No one’s been murdered or brought back to life, and yet she finds that she’s weighing the consequences of who she can tell with a similar level of urgency.

 

In the end, she finds herself getting in the car, and driving to Sander’s junkyard where she knows Michael will be working this time of day. He knows, after all, so it should be easier - right?

 

Parking her car in the sandy lot, Michael’s already coming around the back of the garage as she swings her legs out onto the dusty ground. “Iz? Everything good?”

 

“Can we talk?” Isobel asks him, and Michael’s eyes start to go round with worry - “Okay, I should preface, no one’s died. No new aliens, and no more government conspiracies.”

 

“Is this about Maria?” Michael asks then, point blank. “I, uh - figured it out. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Isobel says, then hesitates. “I think I might’ve messed up.”

 

“Well, you said that no one’s died, so that’s pretty good,” Michael offers, and she huffs out a laugh. “Come on. Is it a day drinking kind of conversation?”

 

“Yes,” Isobel says emphatically.

 

 

  
\---

 

 

  
“And then it was like she couldn’t get rid of me fast enough,” Isobel tells him, peeling the edge of the label off her bottle as she speaks. Michael’s been silent this whole time, just letting her rant. “I mean, I can’t imagine what you could’ve said.”

 

“I just told her to be careful with you,” Michael says, lifting his shoulders ever so slightly. “I didn’t know if it was a one-time thing or something - although since the _wedding_ , really?”

 

“The only good part about weddings,” Isobel says, a little miserable. “I mean, is it that she thinks I’m going to crawl inside her brain or something?”

 

“Okay,” Michael says. They’re sitting inside the garage, the cool shade a welcome refuge from the blistering heat outside. “So Maria’s Maria, right? She’s got every right to be suspicious of any of us. Maybe she doesn’t want to get close to you - “

 

“Oh, she was close, all right,” Isobel says, and Michael’s face does that complicated twist again. “Sorry, sorry, forgot that you two - “

 

“Well, she’s got a type,” Michael says, the corner of his mouth twitching even as he tries to hide his wince. “This town is too small.”

 

“Absolutely,” Isobel agrees. “Is it that she doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s been sleeping with me? Because I’m a woman -alien?”

 

“Maybe,” Michael says, but looks doubtful. “When all the shit with me and Alex and her were going down, that was one thing that she didn’t care about, though. She didn’t bat an eye when I came out to her, only when it was her best friend that I was in love with and all.”

 

“It’s not like I’ve been in love with Liz for the past ten years or something,” Isobel says, and Michael makes a tiny, strangled sound. “I thought that since everything with - Noah, and her finding out about us, that maybe she had forgiven me. Since I’m the one, technically, who killed Rosa - “

 

“No, you didn’t,” Michael interrupts, tone hard. “It was Noah. You weren’t in control of your own body, Iz. It wasn’t you.”

 

Isobel stares down at her own hands. “But I’m the one with the memories. And she hated me for when it looked like I was so horrible to Rosa, to her best friend. What if she hates herself for trying to get past any of that?”

 

“Iz,” Michael says, “Are you - do you have feelings for her?”

 

Isobel’s head jolts up. She wants to deny it - only she can’t. Not with Michael’s eyes on her -free of judgment either. Not really. “I might,” she says quietly. “I don’t know. I don’t know a lot, these days.”

 

“A wise old alien told me that sometimes, everything is indeed rosy in the end,” Michael says, and Isobel whacks him on the shoulder. “Hey!”

 

“And you’re okay with that?” Isobel purses her lips. “It’s not too weird that I kind of want to ask your ex out?”

 

“You’re my sister,” Michael says seriously. “I’m a little horrified that you’re sleeping with anyone - ow, seriously, but really. I hope you figure it out, too.”

 

“Look at us,” Isobel says, leaning her shoulder against us. “Bisexual aliens at it again.”

 

“We really are unstoppable,” Michael says fondly, leaning right back against her. “Once we get out of our own heads.”

 

“Hey,” Isobel says, “Speaking of which, we are definitely going to talk about how you’ve been carrying around a ring box for at least a week, now.”

 

“ _Isobel_!”

 

 

  
\---

 

 

 

Isobel gets home, and she recognizes Maria’s car in front of her house.

 

The woman herself is sitting on the stoop, rising when Isobel gets out of her car and approaches. In the fading sunset, she looks determined, the sun casting a reddish glow in her hair.

 

“Hey,” Maria says, sounding the least hostile that Isobel expected. “Can we talk?”

 

“Sure,” Isobel says, fingering her keys between her hands. “Do you want to come inside, or - “

 

“I should stay out here, thanks,” Maria says, looking like she’s steeling herself for whatever comes next. “I just wanted to tell you why I don’t think we should be doing this anymore. It’s for the best.”

 

Oh. And just like that, all the hope that had been building up in her chest since her talk with Michael spirals away, lost to the atmosphere. “You could have texted that,” Isobel says, trying to sound anything but how she feels. “It’s not like we were together.”

 

“Yeah,” Maria says, a little quieter. “For nothing, it was good, though. Just - take care, all right?”She moves, then, as if to get back in her car, only Isobel catches her arm as she goes by.

 

“Wait,” she says, feeling as though she’ll die if she doesn’t at least try - “This feels awfully like a breakup, for nothing.”

 

Maria shrugs her arm out of Isobel’s grip but stays put. “We don’t have to go back to how it was,” she says, firm. “We just can’t continue with whatever - this was. You live your life, and I live mine, all right? No hard feelings.”

 

“Do you think that’s what I want?”

 

“I think you don’t know what you want,” Maria says, “And that’s fine. Really. But I know what I need, and it’s some stability.”

 

Isobel swallows, and Maria turns her head as if she’s going to walk again.

 

“Wait,” Isobel blurts out. “Come inside.”

 

“If I do that, we’re definitely not going to end up talking,” Maria says, her lips curling into something so close to a smile, yet it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Goodbye, Isobel.”

 

Isobel watches her get into the car, the headlights turning on as she backs up, drives away. For not the first time, she feels adrift, yet again - only she didn’t expect it to be like this.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

  
Early the next morning, there’s a knock on the door. Isobel waits for whoever it is to go away - it’s early, she deserves to sleep - only whoever it is, they’re also a persistent bastard.

 

She rather moodily stomps to the door, blanket still pulled around her, expecting Liz or Michael - only when she opens the door, Isobel stills in surprise.

 

“Good morning, Isobel,” Alex Manes says, lowering his hand from where he’d been about to knock again. After a moment, he says, “Can I come in?”

 

 

\---

  
For all that Isobel has heard about Alex Manes from Michael, from anyone else, they’ve actually shared very few words. In high school, she was mostly unaware of him, and it was really only until he was coming back from Iraq and she was on the parade planning committee that she gave any thought to him.

 

Alex levels her with a steady, dark-eyed gaze as she brings them both coffee. “Thank you,” he says, sincere and yet so utterly focused that she feels on edge. Unlike literally everyone else that she knows, Alex seems to be the sort to wait for her to start talking, calm and collected in the quiet. She can see how he might balance out Michael in that way.

 

Two can play at that game. Isobel crosses her legs and waits, as he takes a sip from the cup. One doesn’t get the reputation of an ice queen in high school out of nowhere, after all.

 

Eventually, Alex says, “This might seem strange, but I think you might know why I’m here.”

 

Isobel says, “I’m guessing that Michael told you about Maria and me.”

 

“Maria is one of my best friends,” Alex says. “Which is why she came to me, last night, and told me some things. Michael doesn’t know I’m here.”

 

“Maria is her own woman,” Isobel says evenly. “I’d hope that you would know better than try to defend her honor or something. She made her own choices.”

 

“I agree with you on that first part,” Alex says calmly, “But I’m here to try to find out why exactly that choice was so hard for her to make.”

 

Isobel frowns. “It was entirely hers to make,” she says. “She’s the one who called - anything off, between the two of us.”

 

The faintest line appears between Alex’s eyebrows. “Then maybe you can explain to me,” he says slowly, “Why I had to comfort my best friend last night after she showed up like her heart had been broken?”

 

Isobel scoffs at that. “Why would she - “

 

It hits her. From Maria’s perspective, this hasn’t been anything other than a many-time fling. As far as she knows, Isobel is still getting over Noah and doesn't want anyone to know because it's as temporary as Isobel had thought it was. If there had been anything there, Isobel hadn’t told her.

 

For two incredible, driven, intelligent women, they’re also so dumb.

 

“Alex,” Isobel says then, “I hope you’re as good to my brother as you are to your friends.”

 

“Fortunately for him, even better,” Alex says, his mouth quirking. “I assume that I don’t have to give you the whole speech about how I have military resources in case you break her heart or something.”

 

“Oh,” Isobel says, “You’re _cute_."

 

 

\---

 

 

“Pick me up at eight tonight,” Isobel says as soon as she walks into the bar, and Maria turns around to look at her.

 

It looks like a dozen emotions war across her face, and confusion wins out in the end. Maria says, “What?”

 

“Eight,” Isobel repeats. “I’ll tell you where we’re going in the car.”

 

“Isobel - “

 

“I like you,” Isobel declares, right there. Cards on the table. “I think you might like me. I think we should give it a go. I want to - do you?”

 

Maria’s smile is slow, growing like a sunrise on her face. “You asking me on a date, Evans?”

 

“I am,” Isobel says. “I have been, for a while. Are you interested?”

 

“I am,” Maria confirms, and Isobel feels like she’s lighting up all inside. “What should I wear?”

 

“You should plan to bring a change of clothes,” Isobel says, because she’s feeling ten thousand different things and forward is just one of them. She leans on the counter, looks at Maria through her eyelashes like she has a dozen times before, only now there’s promise in it of a different kind. “For tomorrow morning, of course. You're lucky I put out on the first date.”

 

“Then I’ll see you then, Evans,” Maria says, and Isobel matches her smile, and when Maria leans over the counter, the kiss is like certainly the rosy start of something.

 

 

\---  



End file.
